


warm waves on the coast where we love

by teamfreeawesome



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Demisexuality, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Self-Discovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 19:50:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13724766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teamfreeawesome/pseuds/teamfreeawesome
Summary: “I don’t know what the fuck I’m even doing,” Mitch says.Beside him, his feet bare against the concrete of the balcony floor, Willy bumps his shoulder companionably.“Does anyone?”





	warm waves on the coast where we love

**Author's Note:**

> title from 'god save our young blood' by BØRNS & Lana Del Rey. 
> 
> disclaimer: no harm was intended by the writing of this. i don't, in any way, equate these fictional characters to their real-life counterparts.

There’s something about the way that sunshine feels on Mitch’s skin after days and days of grey skies that’s almost euphoric. On winter days, the sun bright overhead, Mitch tips his face up to the sky; lets the warmth of it wash over his skin until it seeps deep enough to cradle the soft, tender centre of himself.

In the summer, it’s different. The sunshine even _tastes_ different. Summer is heat and freckles, and the almost-burning sensation of the midday sun over the backs of his legs. It’s fresh grass, sparkling water and the good chips from Whole Foods because having a picnic is a treat. It’s ten million bees erupting from the wildflowers, his coconut suncream attracting them like wasps to jam. It’s the beach, and the way the waves crash endlessly against the shore, white-tipped and foamy, the ocean a warm, fantastic blue. It’s sand between his toes, and the salt-grit feeling of his hair after a day by the sea.

Mitch thinks that if love exists, it must feel like that.

 

//

 

January brings strong winds, and Mitch feels like a handprint, clear in the condensation of a warm kitchen window. Outside, the cold hits him like a fist to the solar plexus. He stands on his balcony, the material of his jeans too thin for the weather, and watches the way the yew branches bend nearly double in the wind. Watches the flutter of half a rose, the petals brown and shrivelled as it clings stubbornly to its stem.

“Fuck, how are you not freezing?” Auston asks, teeth chattering as he slides into the space beside Mitch. “It’s like. Way below zero.”

He’s staying the night, too drunk to drive home after beer and GTA. It’s nice. Mitch is awful at being on his own. He loves the feeling of an apartment full of people, and when it’s just him, the whole building seems echoic and cold.

“Dude, it’s nice,” Mitch says. “Bit grey, maybe, but like. Chill.”

Auston snorts, but Mitch hears the fondness there anyway.

 

//

 

It’s dark, and Auston is lying in Mitch’s bed. They’re not touching at all, but the air under the covers is warm from the heat of their bodies.

“I’m glad you didn’t go home,” Mitch says.

There’s nothing but darkness and the soft sound of Auston breathing next to him, but Mitch keeps his eyes open anyway. Stares up into nothingness.

“Yeah?” Auston asks softly.

He sounds sleepy, like he’s just on the verge of dropping off. The covers shift, the mattress bouncing a little as Auston moves. Mitch turns, too, until he’s facing Auston, his eyes just a glimmer in the dark.

“Yeah,” Mitch says. “Matts, do you ever -”

He pauses. It may be easier, in the dark, to share, but –

Auston, though, feels safe. He’s a soft, warm presence in the bed next to Mitch. Look, Mitch is aware that he’s the kind of person that likes to be surrounded by people, but even he needs a break sometimes. With Auston, though, it never feels like he’s giving too much. It’s not draining to spend time with Auston. It almost feels like Auston is an extension of himself, warm and non-judgemental, and he –

He makes Mitch laugh.

“Do I ever what?” Auston asks.

Mitch can feel Auston’s breath over his face, and with anyone else it’d be gross, but with Auston –

With Auston, it just makes Mitch want to reach out and touch Auston’s hand. Wants to nudge Auston’s little finger with his own; ground himself, using Auston as his anchor. He’s never –

Never felt like this about anybody before.

“Do you ever worry?”

Auston laughs, a little. Really quiet, and so soft.

“Everyone worries,” he says, and Mitch –

Mitch has this moment where he wants to hide his face in Auston’s chest. Wants to feel Auston’s arms around him; wants to scrunch his hands in the hem of Auston’s shirt and hold on until he’s warm and floating off into the softest kind of daydream, his eyelids drooping until he’s trying to blink away sleep with every breath. It –

It feels a little bit like –

Like –

 

//

 

Mitch has never felt like –

He thinks people are pretty, sometimes. He can appreciate the red, soft curve of Zach’s mouth, or the flick of Willy’s hair after he’s blow-dried it. It’s just –

Willy is pretty, but Mitch doesn’t want to sleep with him. Mitch doesn’t really want to sleep with anyone. He isn’t anti-sex, he doesn’t think. It’s just –

He’s never met anyone who has made him _want_ , in that way that people talk about. Never felt that catch in his gut, that Willy talks about. He’s never looked at a person and wanted to touch their naked skin. Never seen a smile and gone weak at the knees. Never kissed a person and been desperate for more.

Since Auston, though, he –

Sometimes, at night, he dreams about sex. Dreams about sweat and heat and the soft touch of someone’s hands to his skin. He wakes up with sweat pooling at the small of his back, bereft and clinging desperately to the disappearing strands of a half-remembered dream.

Mostly, though, he dreams of the ice; dreams of the dry, chemical smell of the rink, and the aching, bruised feeling of a long game.

 

//

 

The puck won’t find the back of the net. The ice feels unhappy under his feet, and Mitch is so tired that his bones hurt.

“You need to get laid,” Matt says.

It’s warm in Matt’s kitchen, and he’s poking around his cupboards for something for them both to eat.

“That’s how I relieve stress, anyway,” he continues.

Outside, a leaf bumps up against the window as Mitch boils the kettle. The light outside is sliding into grey, dusk rolling in from the horizon, but the leaf looks vibrant; a splash of wintery yellow in the gloom.

“Get laid?” Mitch asks, wrinkling his nose as he pours hot water into the waiting mugs.

He can feel the steam rising, warm and damp as it slides past his chin. The skin at the nape of his neck prickles.

“Yeah,” Matt shrugs, taking a mug from Mitch. “Fuck it out, you know? Fuck out all the doubts and shit, and end your slump. Guarantee you’ll be racking up the points in no time.”

“I -” Mitch says, and pauses. Cradles the warmth of his mug between his hands. “I don’t think I want to have sex with someone random.”

“Okay,” Matt says, like it’s that simple.

Maybe it is.

 

//

 

They’re on the road, and Willy is lying on the floor of Mitch’s hotel room. The light looks yellow, soft and kind of alien, and it washes Willy’s skin out.

“Ugh,” Willy says into the carpet.

“What?” Mitch asks, hanging off the end of the bed to look at him.

Mitch loves Willy, but he doesn’t really understand him. Willy likes to pretend that he’s all surface; he doesn’t like people to see what’s underneath. The vulnerable, ugly parts. He lets Mitch in a little, sometimes, but even then, Mitch only ever sees what Willy allows him to. What Willy is willing to share.

“I don’t know how to sleep with someone and make it mean something,” Willy says, feet kicking gently. “I want it to mean something.”

Mitch doesn’t really know what to say. He’s never slept with anyone. He’s not really wanted to.

“Dude, the fact that this is even an issue that you’re talking about probably means that whatever sex it is that you’re having _does_ mean something,” Mitch says. “At least to you.”

“Probably,” Willy says, closing his eyes. His lashes are really long. “I don’t like having so many feelings about things. It’s exhausting. Make it go away, Marns.”

“Pandora’s box, dude,” Mitch says, shrugging. “Can’t stuff it all back in now. Gotta face it. Deal with it.”

“Hmm,” Willy hums. He scrunches his nose up. Throws an arm over his eyes and sighs. “Maybe I need a bigger box.”

 

//

 

Morning breaks with clear skies, the air frosty and still as the sun shines overhead. It’s cold enough that Mitch’s breath hangs in clouds as he makes his way to his car. He’s bundled up in what feels like a million layers, his coffee steaming gently as he cradles the takeout cup in his hands. Despite the chill, the sunlight dusting the bridge of his nose feels warm.

“Marns,” he hears Auston yell across the parking lot. “You left your hat, dude.”

He’s waving it, like a giant dork, and Mitch’s heart clenches. There’s something about the way Auston’s face looks, open and soft in a way that most people will never get to see, that makes Mitch’s skin feel too tight.

“Thanks Matts,” Mitch says, when Auston gets close enough to hand his hat over. “I could have picked it up tomorrow, though.”

“It’s your favourite,” Auston says, and –

Mitch’s fingers twitch. He feels too aware of his body. Of his mouth and his hands and his arms. He wants to touch the rough-soft skin of Auston’s hand; brush a thumb over Auston’s bottom lip.

Auston smiles, and Mitch feels a startling flash of heat under his skin.

“Yeah,” he says. “Well, thanks, dude.”

He takes the hat from Auston, their fingers brushing for barely a second, and it makes his stomach quiver.

 

//

 

Auston has big hands. Mitch has noticed this before, abstractly and kind of uninterestedly. Now, it feels like all Mitch can think about.

Mitch always feels a little too big for his skin around Auston, but also. Safe. Comfortable. It’s a weird dichotomy of emotions, and he’s never quite sure how to deal with it. At the moment, it’s by slinging an arm over Auston’s shoulders. Somehow, touching Auston grounds Mitch. Makes things just that little bit easier to cope with.

“I’ve never felt like this before,” Mitch says, into Willy’s shoulder.

They’re drunk, and Mitch has no idea where he ends and Willy begins anymore.

“Like what?” Willy asks.

He’s petting Mitch’s hair clumsily, and it feels nice.

“Sex,” Mitch says.

“Sex?”

Mitch nods. Sighs.

“Sex is cool, I guess, but I’ve never -” he sighs again. “I’ve never like. Looked at someone and been like, oh, yes, I want to fuck them, you know?”

“Not really?” Willy says, but it’s soft. Curious.

“I’ve never been able to imagine myself actually having sex with someone, you know? There’s nobody that I’ve looked at and wanted to see naked. Wanted to touch, naked. But -”

He pauses. Takes a breath. He feels a little bit sick.

“But?” Willy asks.

“But, Auston.” Mitch says. “I just – I’ve had boyfriends before, but I was never actually that into them. They kissed me, and it was just a bit, like. Weird. But with Auston, I want -” He takes a deep, shuddery kind of breath. “I want to _know_ him. I want to – fuck, this is so weird. I want to, like, bite him? Kiss the skin of his neck and maybe bite down a little. I just – the idea of having sex with Auston is – it’s not like _before_ , when it was a little bit like, why bother? I _want_.”

“Dude,” Willy says. “ _Dude_. You want to bone him.”

Mitch laughs, and if it sounds a little bit wet, Willy won’t judge him.

“Yeah,” he says, and it sounds incredulous. “Yeah, I kind of do.”

 

//

 

The end of February is looming, but Mitch has managed to snatch a rare, free moment to just chill with his boys. It seems like a waste, though, since Mitch can’t seem to focus on anything but the heat of Auston, sitting next to him on the couch. It’s raining outside, spattering loudly against the glass, but inside it’s warm. Auston’s in sweatpants, and Mitch can’t stop flicking his gaze down to Auston’s thighs. He’s slouched across the couch, his legs spread, and all Mitch can think about is the distance between Auston’s leg and his own.

“Beer?” Willy says, poking his head around the door.

Mitch flushes. Coughs. Shifts a little as he nods, and –

Auston’s knee touches his own, and suddenly it’s not enough. Mitch has never felt like this before. He has no idea how people get anything done. How they don’t just fuck all the time. He wants to slide even closer until they’re pressed thigh to thigh; he wants to put his hand high on Auston’s thigh and just _touch_ him. He wants to know what Auston looks like when he’s turned on. When it’s Mitch who’s turning him on. He wants to straddle Auston’s thighs and kiss the soft-looking skin at the base of Auston’s neck. He wants to –

Fuck. He wants to feel Auston’s dick pressing up against him, and he wants to –

He wants to –

(He escapes to the kitchen, and has to breathe into the square of Willy’s back for a while, his nose pressed to the cotton of Willy’s shirt.

“How do you do this all the _time_?” He whines, scrunching the hem of Willy’s shirt with his hand. “How do you have room for anything else in your brain? He’s all I can think about. _Sex_ with him is all I can think about.”

Willy just laughs, soft and fond. Flicks his hair, grins, and pushes Mitch back into the lounge with a beer in each hand.

Mitch gives one to Auston, and tries not to look at the spread of Auston’s legs, or the flutter of his lashes when he laughs. Tries not to get caught on the cut of his jaw, or the way his shoulders look in his shirt.

Fuck).

 

//

 

The sun rises over the hotel, and Mitch can taste spring in the air. His fingers feel cold against the metal of the balcony railing, his skin erupting in goosepimples as a gust of wind buffets past him. His body feels bruised. He’s exhausted, eyes heavy with a lack of sleep, and ribs aching from a bad hit.

“I don’t know what the fuck I’m even doing,” he says.

Beside him, his feet bare against the concrete of the balcony floor, Willy bumps his shoulder companionably.

“Does anyone?” He nudges at Mitch’s ankle with his foot. “I think you need to tell him, dude. You know he’s not going to be a dick about it, even if he doesn’t feel the same way.”

Mitch sighs. Closes his eyes and turns his face up to the sky.

“Yeah, I know,” he says. “I know.”

 

//

 

It’s a choppy game, and when they win –

Auston’s grin makes Mitch’s toes curl. There’s a bold kind of twist to his lips that makes Mitch’s hands tremble as he struggles out of his gear. By the time they make it to the plane, Mitch is nearly buzzing out of his skin.

“You okay?” Auston asks, sliding into the seat next to Mitch. “You look a bit… stressed?”

Mitch’s stomach flips. Auston’s in his space, with his big eyes and his warm body, and Mitch feels a little bit like he’s melting. Softening, his knees and elbows and heart going loose and hot.

“I -” he starts. Pauses. Swallows. “I’m fine.”

Auston raises an eyebrow. He looks like he’s barely holding back a snort of disbelief.

“And I’m actually a robot,” he says.

Mitch meets Auston’s gaze and smiles weakly.

“Might explain some things,” he tries.

Auston just looks at him until Mitch sighs, shoulders slumping.

“When we get home,” he says. “I’ll tell you when we get home.”

 

//

 

Auston ends up at Mitch’s, perching awkwardly on a bar stool.

“Mitch,” he says, and it’s so quiet. “What the fuck’s going on, dude?”

Mitch’s face feels really hot, and he’s pretty sure he’s sweating through his shirt. He can’t meet Auston’s eyes, the weight of his gaze heavy over Mitch’s skin. He has no idea why he’s this nervous. Auston isn’t an asshole – at least, not in _this_ way, anyway – and if he says no, then. It doesn’t matter. Well, it _does_ , but they’ll still be friends. It won’t change anything. It’ll just be mortifying for a few months.

“I -” Mitch starts. “ _Fuck_.”

His mouth is so dry. He crosses his arms. Swallows.

“Auston, I -”

“You’re freaking me out, dude,” Auston says. His mouth has gone tight, and Mitch can see his throat bobbing as he swallows. “What’s going on?”

“ _Shit_ ,” Mitch hisses. “I’m fucking this up. Look, fuck, Auston – I really fucking like you.”

“Yeah,” Auston says slowly. “I like you too, bro.”

“No – fuck,” Mitch says, sighing with frustration. “Like, I want to _kiss_ you, dude. I want to make-out with you, and maybe even, like, touch your dick, or whatever.”

The clock on the wall ticks, and Mitch’s hands tremble. He’s pretty sure he knows exactly what comes next.

“Oh,” Auston says, and it echoes.

It echoes, and Mitch can’t swallow around the lump in his throat.

“Yeah,” Mitch says.

“ _Oh_ ,” Auston says again, his eyes widening. “Oh my _god_.”

Something seems to dawn across his face, and Mitch watches as his whole body softens, a smile spreading until the corners of his mouth are stretched upwards in relief.

“Mitch, fuck, I thought you were _dying_ , dude.” He laughs. “ _Mitchy_. Come here, oh my god.”

He gets up, rounding the breakfast bar until he can pull Mitch in close, his body so warm against Mitch’s own that Mitch thinks he might spontaneously combust on the spot. With the softest, warmest look that Mitch has ever seen on Auston’s face, Auston buries his hands into Mitch’s hair, and pulls him into a kiss. It’s a slow, heated slide of mouth against mouth, tongues slipping out to taste tentatively at each other, and Mitch –

Mitch has never felt like this before. Never kissed someone like this before. (Never _been_ kissed like this before). His whole body feels warm and lit up, his stomach liquifying as Auston slides one hand out of his hair to cradle Mitch’s face. It’s sweet and soft and so overwhelming that Mitch thinks he might explode with everything that he’s feeling. Auston’s mouth is warm, his tongue sweet, and Mitch’s knees feel weak.

“Mm,” Auston hums, and pulls away gently, eyes fluttering open to meet Mitch’s gaze.

He smiles, and strokes gently over Mitch’s cheek with his thumb.

“I like you, Mitchell Marner,” he whispers. “I really like you.”

 

//

 

They don’t have sex. Not then, anyway.

“I don’t -” Mitch says, stumbling over his words. “I’ve never had sex. It’s not that I don’t want to with you, but – Look, I’ve never actually wanted to, before. Until I started to love you.”

Auston just smiles. Touches Mitch’s cheek. Kisses the corner of his mouth.

“When you’re ready,” he says. “If that’s never, that’s okay too.”

Mitch doesn’t cry, but it’s a close thing.

 

//

 

Spring arrives with the daffodils. It’s raining again, the water slashing down against the windows for minutes at a time, thick enough to make it difficult to see further than a few metres. Inside, though, it’s cosy. Mitch’s bedroom feels almost humid, the windows fogging slightly at the edges.

Auston keeps making Mitch laugh, and there’s something about the way he keeps looking at Mitch, warm and affectionate, that just –

He _wants_ Auston.

“I -” Mitch says, and flushes. “Auston -”

He stretches, catching Auston’s mouth with his own, tugging at him until he’s hovering over Mitch. He’s so wide and warm, and Mitch feels himself unwind. Sink back into the mattress, his limbs going so loose and warm. Palms resting against Auston’s barely-there stubble, Mitch bites at Auston’s lower lip, drawing out the softest noise. Heat curling in his belly, Mitch lowers his shaking hands, and lets them settle on the hot curve of Auston’s hips.

“I want to touch you,” he murmurs into Auston’s mouth. “I want you to touch me.”

Auston opens his eyes. Smiles, soft and slow and warm, and presses a kiss to the base of Mitch’s throat.

“If you’re sure,” he says.

Mitch grins. Nips at Auston’s chin playfully.

“I’m sure.”

 

//

 

(So, it turns out that sex is –

With Auston, it’s almost unbearably intimate. Auston is braced over him, fingers laced with Mitch’s, and he’s looking down at Mitch, like he can see right to the heart of him, and he’s –

He’s _inside_ Mitch, and –

It’s so gentle, and Mitch feels flushed all over. Auston is sharing his breath, his body, his air. Touching his skin. It’s like they’ve merged into one person; Auston is Mitch and Mitch is Auston, and Mitch feels _cherished_. Mitch thought he would feel vulnerable, and in some ways, he does, but there’s just –

There’s nothing but love in this moment).

 

//

 

Auston comes to see him over the summer.

An evening in August, and the sun is sinking behind the curve of the horizon. Mitch is warm, his skin tacky with a day of cooled sweat. He’s sat on a rough jetty, the wood warm under his hands, his feet brushing to cool lake water beneath.

It’s been a warm summer, full of laughter and sunshine, the sweet smell of suncream hovering around the edges of every breath. The evening is still warm, and Auston is sat next to him as the midges float above their heads, the lake slapping against the wood of the jetty.

“Hockey soon,” Auston says.

His skin is slick-warm against Mitch’s, their forearms barely touching.

“Yeah,” Mitch says.

Auston’s mouth looks so full. He blinks, his lashes long, and Mitch’s breath catches. The moment seems to warp and drag, until it’s broken by Auston suddenly pushing Mitch into the lake. The cold hits him in the chest, and he comes to the surface spluttering with outraged laughter.

“Fuck you,” he laughs, and yanks Auston into the lake by his ankle.

(They kiss as they tread water, and Mitch has never been so happy).

 

//

 

(He’s still not that bothered about sex. He’s never seen a man in the street and felt his gut clench. Doesn’t see a woman smile, and go weak at the knees.

He’s just –

He’s only bothered about sex with _Auston_ ).

**Author's Note:**

> let me know if it needs more tags !!!
> 
> [tumblr ](http://teamfreeawesome.tumblr.com)


End file.
